Just the FBI
by singingstarryknights
Summary: “I just can’t watch the train wreck anymore.” He said. “I can’t watch you destroy yourself.” Part of the First Kiss Series. GregSara.


Just the FBI

…

Part of the First Kiss Series

…

"We have to talk." Sara's business-like tone assaulted Greg's ears, and he cringed, not looking up from the report he was compiling.

"I've got nothing to say." His fingers remained stroking the keys under them rhythmically, and when he glanced up, he focused his gaze on the computer screen instead of her.

"Well I've got plenty to say. And you've got some explaining to do." At her angry words, not quite out of line, considering the circumstances, he sighed heavily, and sat back, swiveling his chair around to face her.

"Fine. Talk."

"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" She sounded borderline hysterical, like the tears were going to fall any second. She cared for him, that he could see. It was written plainly across every atom of her face. His calm, collected front never faltered, and he coolly gestured towards the sleek laptop.

"The report on the Vendalez case."

"Don't take me for an idiot, Sanders." She fumed, trying to keep her anger and her hurt in check. She tossed a file at him, watching him groan in realization when he recognized the federal insignia on the cover.

"Sara, I-"

"Explain to me, please, Greg, why a Fed dropped this form off to me this morning as I was turning on the coffee maker and brushing my teeth?" There was hurt in her voice, and concern, and it broke his heart. Hurt that she had to hear his news from a Federal Agent, concern that he was adopting a death wish. He opened his mouth to explain, only to close it a few moments later, unable to think of a viable explanation. He'd been avoiding telling her about becoming an agent with the FBI; and suddenly the subject of the majority of his sleepless nights was staring determinedly back at him, demanding an explanation.

"That's a file for testimony for a backgrounds check. Mostly witness to character, work ethic, that sort of thing."

"Try again. Why's the FBI running a background check on you?" She shifted her weight, folding her arms over her chest and fixing him with a hard stare. Oh God.

"Because I'm joining the Bureau."

"What?!"

"They've offered me a position in the DNA lab at Quantico."

"Why would you go back to the lab when you've worked so hard-"

"I can't be here." He mumbled, ashamed, knowing it was a cop out. He should be strong enough to keep his beloved job. He shouldn't care this, after so long. It was killing him, and the easiest way to relieve the pressure on his heart was to pack it up and move.

Away from the neon lights that gave him headaches. Mostly, though, he wanted to get away from her. She was breaking his heart, and he couldn't physically watch her spiral down into the pile of mistakes she had skirted around for so long. He didn't want to be there when the laundry got a chance to flap in the breeze. He didn't think he could take it. He wasn't sure he could handle it now.

"But you love it here, Greg." She frowned, folding her arms across her chest, leaning against the table, the frustration sparking in her voice. "Why the feds? Why the east coast?" She slammed her fist to the smooth surface, making him jump. "_Look_ at me, Gregory." Her words were sharp, but her touch was soft, and he closed his eyes, biting back a groan as her fingers sifted through his unruly curls.

"I just can't be here." He pushed the office chair back, wheeling out of her grasp and glancing wearily at the unfinished report, the blinking cursor waiting patiently for him to continue. He sighed, slumping against the back of it, steeling himself for the onslaught of Sara's prescribed brand of verbal aggression, but all he heard was silence. The stayed like that for several moments, tears brimming in Sara's eyes, the weariness beginning to become much more pronounced on Greg's features. In the end, it was Sara who spoke.

"You love your job." Her expression was sullen, and his heart broke again, with a dull twinge in his chest.

"It's not enough just to love the job, Sara. I do love the job. I'm grateful for everything you've taught me. I just can't do it anymore." He picked the pen out from behind his ear, and tossed it in the general direction of the laptop, watching it roll across the layout table.

"Why? Why leave? Why throw away everything you've worked for, for years? Why, Greg? What are you running from?"

"You." Greg sighed, wincing as her expression twisted into hurt. "I-I just can't watch the train wreck anymore. I can't watch you destroy yourself."

"Greg-"

"The FBI offered me a position in the mitochondrial DNA lab, working on the high profile cases exclusively. They'd make me an agent, and they're offering me the Assistant Director position in the DNA lab. It's a five figure raise-"

"I thought you weren't about the money."

"I'd rather the money than the heartache." He spoke quietly, but his words were laced with a dull acid that stung her, and she cringed.

"I care about you, Greg-"

"No. No matter what I do here, you'll still see me like I'm 24 years old. I'm not a kid, Sara. I'm up for my level two review next week; I'm almost your professional equal."

"Greg."

"I'm not ignorant to the tides in your heart, either, as much as you think I don't pick up on what's going on outside the lab. I see things, I understand. And I've been here a hell of a lot longer than you. Worked with Grissom longer than you."

"Stop, Greg."

"No. I've watched you pine after him for six years, and then I watched him give in, and I watched you discover that he is not what you want. You need someone to love you best. He can't give that, Sara. You're asking him to give up on everything he's ever worked for. He can't do it. I can see it in his eyes."

"I know you're hurt."

"No. Hurt doesn't do it justice. Devastated. I'm devastated, Sara. But it's only because I have to watch you dismantle any ounce of happiness you ever had the chance of achieving."

"Greg, that's horrible." She brushed away some tears, trying to hold herself together, reluctant to admit that he was right.

"It's the truth and you know it. And I can't watch it anymore. I'm gong to Quantico, to a job I hate, but I'd rather hate the job than hate you, and if I stay here, I'm going to do just that." He took a deep breath, fixing her with a brokenhearted gaze. "I love the job, Sara, I really do. But I love you more, and I can't sit by and watch you get hurt, days and months and years, all in a row." He gestured to the folder, resting his head wearily in his hand, pushing a few curls out of his eyes. "This is self preservation. I can't be here. I'm going to die. Maybe not my body, no, I'll keep breathing, moving, eating, sleeping, working. For at least another forty years." He stood slowly, from the office chair, and turned to face her, letting her see, for the first time, the tears that were brimming in his eyes. "You're killing me, Sara. And I'm willing to go back to a job I hate just to clear you out of my head. I love you. With everything I have, everything I am. But it's not enough, and if I'm going to leave, I might as well go somewhere-"

She cut him off, stepping into him and kissing him fiercely. He stiffened for a moment, and she anticipated an effort to try to push her away, but she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him against her, deepening their kiss. He gave in, kissing her back, wrapping an arm tightly around the small of her back, taking what she gave, pulling her against him instinctively. After a moment, he gained his senses again, breaking their contact, and stepping away.

"Sara-"

"Please don't go." She stood there before him, her tears spilling over her cheeks, her lips slightly swollen behind her fingers, muffling the sound of her words. He shifted his weight, reluctantly turning his gaze to the manila folder on the table, away from the sparkle in her eyes, caused by the reflection of the lights on her tears. He leaned down, gathering the paperwork from the table. He held it out, scanning its elegant insignia, pursing his lips, and breathing a sigh.

Without a word, he ripped the folder in half.

………

A/N: sorry about neglecting Greg and Sara.


End file.
